


Marshmallow Fluff, Caramel Syrup, and Rainbow Sprinkles That Don't Exist

by Raindropsonwhiskers



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crepes, Dr Nyarlathotep, Eldritch Doctor (Doctor Who), F/M, Gen, POV Outsider, mysterious appearing and disappearing sprinkles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raindropsonwhiskers/pseuds/Raindropsonwhiskers
Summary: A strange couple walks into a crepe shop.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 86





	Marshmallow Fluff, Caramel Syrup, and Rainbow Sprinkles That Don't Exist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fluffysfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/gifts).
  * Inspired by [unknowable somethings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828450) by [fluffysfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics). 



> Inspired by/a creator-endorsed sequel to "unknowable somethings" by fluffysfics, which is such a wonderful little Eldritch Doctor fic that I couldn't resist writing this!

Patrice has been working the counter at Creperie NYC for about four years now, and she's seen a _lot_ of weird stuff. The guy who came in wearing a full Shrek costume, bad accent and everything. The lady who ordered a seventeen different types of crepe and ate all of them in under ten minutes while staring blankly at her phone. The gaggle of schoolchildren from Arizona who had been so excited to be let loose on a city unsupervised that they came back four times in two days - okay, that one had actually been pretty cute.

None of them hold a candle to the pair that just walked in. At first glance, they seemed normal, a couple on a cute brunch date. Then the lights in the building flickered briefly, and Patrice saw _something_ move behind the woman's back. Just as quickly, the lights were back to normal, and so was the woman.

Shaking her head, Patrice looks at the woman currently ordering. It was probably just a trick of the light, never mind that it's bright and sunny out.

"Right, so that's two strawberry crepes and a black coffee for Karla, right ma'am?" she asks, typing the order into the computer when the woman nods. "That'll be 21.67."

Patrice takes the cash, hands back the appropriate change, and says, in her customer service tone, "Alright, if you can just wait at the next counter, your order will be ready soon!"

Next up is the ~~strange~~ perfectly normal couple. The woman practically bounces up to the counter, her pale blue coat flapping. Her partner approaches in a much less enthused manner, smiling fondly.

"Hi!" she says, in what Patrice is pretty sure is a British accent, and not a fake one, either. "I'll have- ooh, there's so many choices! Very different from France - I'll have a marshmallow and caramel crepe. With rainbow sprinkles!"

For a split second, something about the woman feels distinctly _endless;_ like staring into space and realizing that it doesn't stop, just keeps going forever. Patrice blinks, suddenly dizzy.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but we don't do sprinkles on-" Patrice begins, and then stops. On the counter, next to the other crepe toppings and fruits, is a jar of rainbow sprinkles, sitting there innocently like they've always been in that exact spot. 

Except Patrice has worked here for _four damn years,_ and she has never seen that jar of sprinkles in her life.

She blinks again, firmly. The jar of sprinkles acquires a small smiley face on the lid. "Er, right. Sprinkles. And you, sir?"

The man tilts his head, scanning the menu behind her. After a moment, he says, "Dark chocolate and raspberry."

That, at least, has been on the menu for two years. Patrice can handle _that._ She types in the orders, almost relieved for the excuse to look away from the woman, who's still smiling with slightly too many teeth.

"Right, that'll be 18.51," she says.

"Good year, that," the woman remarks. "First issue of the New York Times got published that year."

Patrice nods, keeping her face neutral. Neither of them make any sort of move to pay. Patrice gives a pointed look toward the cash register.

After a moment, the woman's eyes go wide and she exclaims, "Oh! Right! Money."

She begins digging through her coat pockets, pulling out all sorts of odd things. She is also still holding hands with the man next to her, and brushing her hair back from her face. Patrice's head begins to hurt.

Finally, after an excruciatingly long time and some strange noises, the woman pulls out a crumpled fifty dollar bill and presents it to Patrice with the air of a cat dropping a mouse at someone's feet.

"There!" She grins. "That should cover it, right?"

Maybe she's just foreign, Patrice thinks as she searches for change. She's got the accent for it. Probably just here on vacation with her boyfriend. That's probably all this is; just a foreign weirdo who doesn't really 'get' American customs, and her longsuffering partner.

And then Patrice looks up to hand the woman her change, and sees her eyes flicker to pure black for a moment. She manages not to yelp, but only barely.

"Here's your change," Patrice says quickly. "Can I have a name for the order?"

The couple exchanges a very brief, very weird look.

"Jo- Jane Smith," the woman says.

That's a fake name if Patrice has ever heard one, but it's orders of magnitude less weird than everything else that's happened since these two came in. If someone wants to lie about their name to a crepe shop, who is she to object?

"Right, just head down to the next counter and your order will be done in a bit!"

They do exactly that, and Patrice breathes a sigh of relief when the next customer in line seems normal. But, as she continues taking orders, she can't help but notice that the couple choose to stay in the shop to eat their crepes.

She doesn't watch them, not really; she doesn't have time between customers. But she does glance at them when she has a chance. 

The woman eats her crepe like she's never used a fork before, picking it up with her hands and just _chomping._ Something about the way the crepe tears when she pulls a mouthful off is deeply unnerving. A little too much like videos Patrice has seen of big cats tearing some poor gazelle to bits.

The man doesn't seem to care in the least, fixing his girlfriend with an adoring look like something out of a romance movie. It would almost be adorable if not for the utterly bizarre circumstances. Patrice isn't one to judge people's relationships - unless it's Sharon for her awful taste in men - but she gets the distinct sense that he's _whipped._

Finally, they leave. As they do, the lights flicker again, and Patrice happens to be looking up as they do. She catches a glimpse of those same _things_ on the woman's back she'd seen when they first entered, but now they're a totally different shape. The first time, they'd looked almost like skeltal bat wings, or maybe long, outstretched hands. Now they look like plumes of smoke, billowing out from the woman's shoulders and haloing her head.

The lights come back on, and the woman is gone, and Patrice tries very, very hard to put the entire thing out of her head. She turns to grab change for a customer, and sees that the sprinkle jar is gone.


End file.
